The Last Words
by thereisalight
Summary: Angsty oneshots that revolve around the suicide notes of various HSM characters. Rated M for character deaths. RIP so far: Kelsi, Chad, Sharpay, Ryan.
1. Kelsi

**So this is very different than anything I've ever written, so I'm not really sure how it turned out. Since this is pretty dark, I should probably say that I'm actually a pretty happy and well-adjusted person. I just get pleasure from making fictional characters suffer. **

**Disclaimer1: I don't own any of this**

**Disclaimer2: Don't read if you have an allergy to angst**

Michael Nielsen walked up the stairs to his daughter's room. She rarely slept in this late, and something didn't quite feel right. "Kelsi, time to get up! I made pancakes," he called from outside her door. No answer. He knocked, but there was still nothing.

Finally, he quietly opened the door. His breath immediately left him. He knew that she wasn't sleeping. Her sprawled body and the bottle of pills in her hand revealed this. Tears poured to his eyes, and he turned around, unable to bear the sight. Facing the door, he noticed that there was a note pinned to it, written on blank sheets of music. Without even reading at it, he knew what it was. He didn't know if he could handle reading it just yet, if ever. But he needed something to keep his eyes off of his daughter.

Picking it up, he noticed her curvy, calligraphic handwriting. "Even in death she's meticulous," he thought to himself bitterly.

I don't know when the music stopped. I thought it never would. Especially now that things were getting better, I thought that my problems were over. But your problems never really end, do they? Before, I was miserable because I thought I had no one, I thought I was alone. But then it seemed like something changed. It seemed like others actually cared about my existence, and it was nice. But did they really care? No. I had my moment in the spotlight. It was nice to have people who seemed to care. But then I was pushed back. Why did I think it would change?

I know that I always acted like other people's opinions didn't matter, and for a while they didn't. I was always okay with the blank stares that constantly met my eyes. I was okay because I knew that I could always take solace in myself, and in my music. But for a while, I thought I had found something more. Something that was beyond me or even beyond those 88 black and white keys. There was life behind the eyes of those strangers; sometimes they even seemed to be welcoming, accepting. Did they really want to be my friend? For a while I thought that they did. But then, no one cared anymore

Why did I think it would change?

I don't know how it happened, but slowly, those waves in the hallway turned back into glances that asked why I was taking up space. I went back to being the girl who hid behind her piano, afraid to emerge from her fortress of music, and the old fears that constantly plagued my mind returned, even stronger. I thought that I had gotten over those. I even was able to stand up to those who were once the worst to me (I don't want to die with spite, so you will remain unmentioned. You know who you are), and it seemed like even those people had hope for changing. But of course, they went back to their normal ways again, pushing me around to fulfill their own petty wants. And I knew that there was nothing I could do to stop them

Why did I think it would change?

But even then, I didn't give up hope, not quite. I still had my music, and as long as I had that, there was still hope. It was my last solace and the only thing that I could do to keep from going mad with loneliness and the powerless feeling that I knew would never go away. Even in my darkest times, I could temporarily lose my troubles with the help of the notes and lyrics that seemed to pour out of my mind. Born out of hopelessness, they gave me hope that maybe, someday, things really would change. But then, even that left me. I don't know how, I don't even know when. All I know is that the music that was once my only friend, was gone. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't write anything. It wasn't mere writer's block. It was a permanent end to all the hopes that I used to have. I thought it would pass. I thought the music would return, and cast out the dead feeling that was rampant in my fingers whenever I sat down at the piano bench. But now I know that it never will. And if I can't have that, I have no other choice. Living simply is no longer an option.

I'm sorry to my family, and to any friends that I may have, if they even exist. I truly am. I know that you'll take this hard. Please don't blame yourself, it has nothing to do with you.

I don't want to die. But I can't live.

Kelsi Nielsen.

**Too dark? Not dark enough? Any comments/criticisms are greatly appreciated. I have an idea for Chad so I'm probably going to do one for him next, partially depending on how this is received. **


	2. Chad

**Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. I'm not sure about this one. On one hand, the concept is a little cliched (though I haven't seen it done with Chad too often), but I think it turned out pretty well. **

**Disclaimer: don't own HSM...also this is significantly darker than the first one, so...watch out for that**

Taylor stormed into his house, completely fed up with her boyfriend. Something about him had changed in the past few weeks. They had been fighting constantly. Of course, this in itself didn't surprise her. They fought all the time. It was a part of their chemistry. But lately the fights had lost the edge of flirtatiousness that she used to enjoy. They were becoming angrier, louder, and much more bitter. And now he had forgotten to pick her up for their six month anniversary. As she opened the door, her anger was joined by sadness, and she wondered if things between them would ever be the same again.

"Chad!" she yelled angrily. No answer.

"Chad!?" again she called out his name, but this time worry had crept into her voice. And there was still no answer. For a second she thought that maybe he hadn't forgotten after all and was on his way to pick her up at her house, and it wouldn't be long before they were laughing over the misunderstanding. But after looking in his driveway, she saw that his car was still there, instantly dashing those hopes. Still, she told herself not to get too worked up about this. But after a check of nearly every room in the house, her apprehension had grown stronger. The only place left was the basement, where he almost never went. That was Chad's father spent most of his time, and Taylor knew all too well that the two didn't exactly see eye to eye.

"Chad?" she said for what felt like the thousandth time, her voice now little more than a whisper. Few other people would have noticed the small spattering of blood on the wall. But as Taylor walked down the stairs, it was the first thing to catch her eye, and she instantly knew that something was wrong. When she entered the basement, this was confirmed. It was him, complete with a shotgun at his side. He was hardly recognizable because of the seemingly endless amount of blood around him. But she knew that it was him. "Chad!" her voice was louder than ever, and she rushed over to him, but she knew it was too late. Endless thoughts were going through her mind. Why wasn't she here sooner? Why had she been so angry just seconds ago? But more than anything, Why did this happen?

In her anguish, she nearly missed the note that lay a few feet away from him, but as she tore her eyes from his cold body, it seemed to come up out of nowhere. It was a simply a sheet of lined paper, the edges still containing frays from being hastily torn out of a notebook. It had been written on in by a heavy, frantic hand. She initially threw it back down on the ground, terrified of its contents. But curiosity soon got the better of her, and she again picked it up. Chad's handwriting was scrawled at best, and combined with the occasional splotches of blood and his mental state at the time, it was almost illegible. But strangely, Taylor found herself able to read it with no difficulty.

It was either me or him. I couldn't put up with him anymore. Most would call him my father, but I won't give James that much credit. Even though I hope he doesn't find this, I'm going to address him first, because no one is to blame as much as him. Maybe at some point you were my father. Maybe there was some point when you really did love me. But if that time exists, I can't remember it. My basketball coach (Coach Bolton is his name, if you were wondering. You'd know that if you ever once saw one game) has been more of a father than you. He may have been overbearing at times, but at least he always gave me rides home from late games and an ear to talk to. I'm sure you know that those are two things that you, even when you were sober, never cared much for. I was trying to find one happy memory, no matter how small. But all I can remember is the stench of alcohol and the sounds of yelling and violence. I never blamed mom for leaving you. Not even found when it happened. And even if I had, the black eye that you gave me was enough to remind me what she had left. That was the first time that you hit me. Maybe you don't remember, but I do. You lost one punching bag so you found another. You haven't tried to hit me as much in the past few years, now that I can hit back with as much force and even more hatred. But don't think that I hate you any less because I've gotten fewer bruises. If anything, it's worse than ever because we both know that I can do something about you, but we both know that I won't. But trust me; even as I load your gun, I'm thinking that this bullet is going to end up in the wrong Danforth. But it was either me or you. I want you to remember that whenever you take the next sip from the bottle of Jack Daniels. I want you to remember that when you pretend to be crushed on the outside, while you continue to joke about your "idiot boy" with your drinking buddies. I want you to remember that if you ever decide to sort out your life, and try to start another family. Don't make the same mistakes, please. Because your next son may not be as merciful.

To my friends: most of you probably didn't see this coming, and I understand any anger that you may have. But I don't want anyone to dwell on this for too long. I have more than enough anger and hatred for the entire group. Frankly, I hope it dies with me. Few of you knew that behind my playful smile and whimsical t-shirts was this much hatred. I tried to cover it up. I tried to hide from it. But I've found that you can't hide from that much evil, especially when it follows you everywhere. But I want to apologize for leaving you and thank you all for being there to help me make it this long. I'm only sorry that I couldn't last. Especially to Troy, you were the best friend a guy could have. And I know we said it a lot, but I really do see you as a brother. I know you would have stuck with me through everything, but there are some things that I need to face alone. Gabriella, I'm sure he'll blame himself somehow, so I'm leaving it up to you not to let him take this too hard.

Taylor: I'm saving you for last because you mean so much to me. First of all, I want to thank you for showing me love. It was something that I never thought I would know, but as usual, you proved me wrong. I love you so much, more than I ever thought possible. I'm not going to say much about how strongly I feel for you because, frankly, no words that I know can describe it. Then again, I am a "lunkhead basketball boy!" But I will always be your "lunkhead basketball boy." I also want to apologize. If my plan works, you'll be the first to find me. It won't be too long before you come over to yell at me for missing our anniversary, and I know you won't walk in on a pretty sight. I hate putting you through this, and I can't stand putting this burden on you, but you're the only one I trust enough to know how to handle this situation, and this note. Even more importantly, I want to apologize for the way I've been lately. I blame myself for everything that's gone wrong. The fighting, the yelling, you had nothing to do with it. I especially want to apologize for the fight one week ago. Maybe you don't remember it too well, but it hasn't left my mind. I don't even remember what we fought about. All I remember is that I lifted my hand. I didn't hit you, but we both know I could have easily. That moment changed me. I saw him in me. And I swore to myself early in life that I would never turn into him. Now I see that it is harder than just saying it. In fact, I can only think of one way to keep my promise. And that's why I apologize to you more than anyone else.

Chad Danforth

**I'd highly appreciate any thoughts or criticisms that you have either on this story or the idea as a whole. Thanks for reading. I'm not sure who is gonig to be next, but most likely Troy or Sharpay since I have vague ideas floating in my head for both of them.**


	3. Sharpay

**This chapter is a bit different than the others, since it focuses more on the backstory than the note. I also don't think it's too sad or angsty, and it has more of a psychological element in my opinion. Also, this is probably self-explanatory, but these chapters are all unrelated, which explains why Kelsi is less dead than you might think. **

**I don't own HSM**

Kelsi _really_ didn't want to do this. Sharpay changed around her songs, bossed her around, and made her constantly doubt herself, and that was just at school. But she had always thought that everywhere outside of East High was a sort of safe zone from Sharpay's annoyances. But that changed a week ago, when her phone rang and she saw that the caller ID read Evans.

On the other line was a particularly demanding Sharpay, who started by saying something about her rehearsal pianist, and a lot of angry curses "that little wimp," and ended with her 'asking' (Sharpay never actually asked) if Kelsi could stand in for him. Before she could ask a sensible question, like "why do you need a rehearsal pianist if you're just an understudy?" or "how did you get this number?" the word "yes," slipped out.

Milliseconds later, Sharpay was telling her to be at her house the next weekend, then hung up abruptly.

As much as she didn't want to do this, she rang the doorbell of the large house and was greeted by the much less threatening Evans twin. Ryan seemed confused to see Kelsi, but met her with a smile. "Hey Kelsi. What's up?" he asked. It was the nicest way he could ask "what are you doing here?"

Fortunately Kelsi understood his meaning and offered "Sharpay asked if I could come over to help you guys rehearse."

"Oh, okay…what do we have to rehearse for?" he asked good-naturedly. "I was actually wondering the same thing, to be honest."

Ryan had come to terms with the fact that he hadn't gotten the role for the musical, but Sharpay still didn't seem to understand that she had lost something, and it occurred to Kelsi that she had been invited over to play a part in some vast scheme of denial that Sharpay was still going through. "Well, I'll go get her anyway," Ryan said with a shrug and a smile, "there's never a bad time to dance, right?" and he left with a spring in his step.

But when he came back, he was noticeably less bouncy. "Weird…I can't find her. Are you sure you got the right time?"

"Yeah, Saturday at two. She reminded me just about every day this week," Kelsi said, unable to keep herself from rolling her eyes. "Well, I know she went out earlier, but I could have sworn that I heard the garage door open just a few minutes ago. Let's check there." Ryan's voice remained light, but Kelsi noticed that his voice had lost the almost musical quality that it usually held.

Ryan opened the door to the garage, and an unsettling sight met him and Kelsi. Ryan knew that something was wrong from the second he saw that the top of her convertible was up. Barring the worst of storms, Sharpay never put the top up. For Kelsi, it wasn't until she saw the black hose that led from the nearly-closed window to the back of the car. This confused her at first, until she remembered hearing something about people running a hose from their exhaust to inside the car so that they could-.

They saw the blonde hair at the same time. Her body had fallen, and the rest of Sharpay was hidden from sight. But a small amount of her hair was still visible, and it was enough for them to know.

Kelsi's and Ryan's reactions couldn't have been more different. Ryan broke down. He let out an unexpected scream, and seemed unable to do anything but break whatever was in his view. His world was shattered, and all he could do is try to make his surroundings look as bad as he felt.

Kelsi was considerably less affected. The shock of it all overtook her. Initially, she actually felt an wave of relief. Would this mean no more being bossed around? No more being controlled? But she instantly regretted it, and cursed herself for the selfish impulse. To be honest, Kelsi had no clue how to face death. It was a new experience for her, and suicide was something that she had attributed to insane criminals, not people who were as well put together as Sharpay was...or rather, had been.

By this time, Ryan had stopped breaking things, and resigned himself to sitting on the ground, sobbing as if no one was watching. He felt an arm wrap itself awkwardly but comfortingly around his shoulder, and though he wanted to shake Kelsi off, release his anger at her, he needed to feel another body on his to remind him that he wasn't as alone as he felt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's all my fault," Ryan said, his voice quiet but full of anger, even hatred. "How could you have known?" she asked him, receiving nothing but a sullen stare in return.

"There's a note," Kelsi said suddenly, after some time. It had been just a few feet from them the whole time, resting on the car hood. But the paper it was typed on blended in perfectly with the bright pink car. Kelsi resisted the urge to ask who went through so much trouble for a suicide note. "What's it say?" Ryan asked, not sure if he was yet ready to know why his sister had done this.

I know what everyone is going to say. They'll think I did this for some stupid reason. Well, let me just tell you first hand, this has nothing to do with the Winter Musicale, Troy Bolton, or whatever stupid reason the masses at school will come up with. God I hate them. I know this sounds harsh, and I know that I'm not the most agreeable person in the first place, but I hate them. If there's any blame for this, it should be to them. The weird thing is, I don't hate any one of them, just the collective mass. I don't even hate Gabriella Montez. In fact, she's better than most. She at least doesn't stare like the rest of them. They never stop. Their eyes watching, judging everything I do. There was once a time when I liked the attention. I would do anything to have the eyes of all of East High, all of the world, on me. I thought that everyone watching me on the stage would bring me happiness. It made me feel like I was better than them, like I had power. But now I realize that their gazes didn't stop at the stage, and they definitely didn't give me power. Instead, the watchers had the power over me. Everything I did was monitored. I wasn't a star, I was little more than a zoo animal. I couldn't stand being the entertainment anymore. But I let it go on anyway, because at least they were watching, and I thought that this meant that I had power. But now I realize that I was wrong again. I had no power. I knew this when I found that I no longer could control my own actions. I was so obsessed with being the center of attention that I would do anything to be watched. It became so important that I didn't care why they were watching. As long as I was the focus. So I forced myself to become hated, because I thought that's what they wanted. I forced myself to try to ruin others, because I thought that's what they wanted. I forced myself to turn away from those who might be my real friends, because I thought that's what they wanted.

But now I'm doing what I want. And I want them all to stop watching.

**There were some things I liked about this, others I'm not so sure about. I'd appreciate any thoughts/reviews/criticisms you have. Thanks for reading. **


	4. Ryan

**Well, I know it took long enough, but here's the next installment. If you haven't, I would definitely read Sharpay's chapter before this because they have a lot of similar themes, and I think they work well together. Anyway, as you can probably tell by now, its semi-AU and Ryan is a bit OOC, since I don't think he's that melodramatic, and as usual...fairly angsty. Also, I'd like to thank autumnamberleaves, whose review indirectly helped me get over writer's block/studying for AP tests, and get down to writing this.**

**Don't own anything**

It had become a regular occurrence for the twins. Ryan would lock himself in his room, Sharpay would yell at him until he reluctantly came out. They would practice until Sharpay said that they were done. Ryan would leave their in-home studio, claiming that Sharpay was going "too far this time," but he always had a smile on his face.

He never wanted to admit it, but they both knew that his love for dancing was enough to overcome his dislike for being controlled (even if it was by his best friend). He didn't tell anyone, even Sharpay, but the only time that he felt truly alive was when the music was blaring in his ears, and he could truly express himself; joy, anger, pain; in his motions.

Of course, Sharpay's idea of dancing was quite different than his. For her, it was a constant competition. She knew that she was an excellent dancer, and never gave up an opportunity to use her dances to remind people that, at least in that small way, she was superior. She cared little for the emotion behind the dance. As an actress, she could convince the audience that she had put her heart into dance, but if she were completely honest with herself, she would admit that dancing for "fun" was completely alien to her.

"RYAN!" Sharpay continued this regular occurrence for the twins. But it wasn't the same this time, because Ryan was not playing along. In fact, Sharpay realized, he hadn't said a word. She had been yelling at him to leave his room for almost five minutes now. And still, he did nothing. For a few moments, she wondered if he had finally done it.

In the past months, both Ryan and Sharpay had joked about leaving their "small town" life in Albuquerque, running away to either LA or New York, and trying to "make it" in movies or on Broadway. Sharpay didn't think that Ryan was serious about this dream; she knew that she wasn't, but perhaps something had made Ryan finally snap. It wasn't completely impossible for him to sneak out through the window and catch a bus to…somewhere.

Finally deciding to pick the lock, something she had learned about halfway through her life, much to her brother's chagrin, she muttered to herself "if you aren't here I am so going to kill you." It was _their _dream. If he had stolen her half, she would be lost not only because she had lost her dream, but also because she would have lost her brother. Sharpay didn't know what was worse.

Finally making the lock slide across the door (normally she could do so effortlessly, but today it seemed to put up more resistance that usual), Sharpay swung the door open. Even when going into a room in her house, she couldn't help but make an extravagant entrance. No one. There was no one in the room. "He didn't," Sharpay said in disbelief. Had he really gone to pursue his dreams?

She soon found that he hadn't. Walking around the room slowly, something struck her attention. Though her view was obstructed by his bed, she very clearly saw a shoe sticking out. Connected to it, an ankle; and to that, a leg. Walking around to the other side of the bed, she saw him.

Sharpay didn't know why she was so surprised to see his body in full. She had seen the leg, shouldn't that be enough? In the back of her mind, she had been hoping that it was merely some old prop. But sure enough, it was him, a bottle of pills still clenched in his hand. "No," 

Sharpay said. But strangely, this was all of the emotion that came from her. It may have been disbelief, or maybe it was the prim coldness that she had forced upon herself, but she didn't even feel a single tear run down her cheek.

Almost as if she expected something to be there, she looked at Ryan's other hand. Sure enough, her intuition was right, and the hand held onto a folded piece of notebook paper. It looked surprisingly neat, with all of the edges torn off neatly, and not a single smudge of ink. Sharpay unfolded the paper and began to read quietly, murmuring each word at a nearly inaudible level.

_Who am I? Am I anyone? I've gone through so many identities that I'm not sure that even I can even answer these questions anymore. I'm not saying that it's your fault (I'm just about positive that Sharpay will be the first to read this, so I choose to address her). In fact, you probably helped me to hang on as long as you did. You gave me something that no one else could: hope. When were dancing, I felt like there was something greater than either of us that could someday make all of the pain worth it. I know that I pretended to hate it. We both knew this wasn't true, but I don't know just how well you knew. I can honestly say that you kept me alive. So, now for the million dollar question, why did I do it? I'm sure that in the upcoming weeks, you'll be asked that more times that you can count. I know that you hate talking to people who you don't see as 'important,' so I'm sorry to do that to you. But I think that you, and everyone, deserve an explanation. I understand that you won't want to tell people. Maybe you'll be too sad or too confused. Or maybe you just won't feel like being bothered with those small details (I must say, I hope its one of the first two). If the third is the case, well, I guess just tell them that I got hit by a car or something, you're a good actress. We'll keep the truth to ourselves, but first, you need to know what the truth is. I lost myself. What does that mean exactly? Well, let me just say, I'm not sure that I know what it means myself. I wish I could give some deep and philosophical answer, but there's nothing there…Nothing…That's become an interesting word in my life, a word that has defined my life for, perhaps years. I have nothing, I am nothing. This was a fact that I thought I could accept. I thought I could rest on our dreams for the future, biding our time. I know that you were never serious about them, but I was. The present, the past...they meant nothing to me. I was living for the future. Even when we were dancing, I was always picturing the lights burning in my eyes, the sound of an awestruck audience. So what changed? The present. I thought that our "reign" at school was the precursor for things to come. Then I saw the truth. We aren't stars. We aren't brilliant. At most, we're a couple of people with modest talent. If we can't hang on to the present, there's nothing for us in the future…And that's all that matters to me anymore. I'm sorry Sharpay. Two shouldn't become one this quickly. But I've been dead for long enough. I think you can manage on your own._

_Ryan Evans_

**Let me know any criticisms that you have...characterization, grammar, too similar to the last chapter, anythnig and everything that you think could be better. Thanks for reading/potentially reviewing.**


	5. Taylor

**So, its been forever since I've updated this, I apologize to all readers and especially reviewers. I had a case of writer's bock, followed by a mixture of being really busy and not having too much interest in fanfiction. A few notes on this chapter: I generally don't find Taylor too interesting as a character (though I've read some very good things featuring her), but she fit the idea I had perfectly, so my depiction of her thoughts may not be great. Also, I don't remember if I've mentioned this, but each of these chapters are totally separate from the others, so this Taylor is very different than the one in Chad's chapter. **

**Disclaimers: I don't own HSM...I don't endorse suicide or self harm in any way...I prefer to look at these stories (especially this one) as more of a character study than a realistic pattern of events, so it comes off as very melodramatic.**

Gabriella knew something was wrong when she saw Taylor's physics textbook lying in front of her locker. There were two things wrong with this situation. First, Taylor would never leave a book lying like that on the floor. Secondly, and even more surprising was the fact that there was an entire page ripped out from the book. She was obsessive about all of her books, especially her school textbooks. Gabriella thought back to the time when Chad wrote Taylor a note on her history book. Gabriella had thought it was cute, but Taylor spent almost a whole erasing it so that absolutely no marks remained (after, of course, thoroughly yelling at Chad for "disrespecting the property of both her and the school!"). That had just been pencil marks, this was an entire page torn out, completely missing.

Thinking that Taylor would never do this to any book, much less her own, Gabriella picked it up, fearing for the life of whoever had been dumb enough to tamper with one of Taylor McKessie's schoolbooks, then headed to Taylor's house for their weekly study session. The door was closed, which Gabriella found odd since Taylor usually didn't like to get up from her work and simply let Gabriella come in on her own.

Confused, and noticing a slightly menacing feeling at this odd behavior from her best friend, Gabriella walked around to the back and was relieved to find that it was unlocked. "Hey Taylor, its me," she said, trying to sound cheerful in order to hide her irritation and slight fear. "You trying to keep me out?" she asked jokingly, to no response from Taylor. When she walked into their normal study room, Gabriella's repressed fear skyrocketed into her consciousness. The room, usually clean to the point of compulsiveness, had books and papers lying askew all around. Gabriella could barely even see the wood tabletop from the year's worth of notes, tests, and books that lay all over it.

Now confident that the previous unusual events of the day were not mere coincidences, Gabriella ran up to Taylor's room. The door was shut tightly, but unlocked.

"Taylor?" Gabriella asked tentatively as she timidly creaked open the door. No response. "Taylor, what's wrong?" she said a little more firmly, opening the door enough to see the full room. It too was much less organized than the normally immaculate state in which Taylor kept it. "Taylor what the hell is going on?" Gabriella asked the seemingly absent room, surprised at the volume and harshness of her voice. Walking into the room and looking around, the source of the resounding silence stared Gabriella in the face.

The lifeless form of Taylor McKessie looked up from her bed. Gabriella couldn't force herself to look away from her friend's eyes. They remained open and looked so peaceful, but at the same time, extremely strained. The only thing that allowed Gabriella to tear herself from Taylor's face was the horrible smell emitting from an empty bottle still gripped tightly in her hand. Gabriella then noticed that there were two pieces of paper lying at Taylor's side. One, the missing piece of Taylor's text book. On the page, there was a circled definition.

**Entropy: An increase, generally irreversible, in the randomness or disorder of a system or body. **

Gabriella recognized Taylor's own writing on the other page, a piece of notebook paper with old equations and well-organized notes on one side, and what looked like a letter on the front, written in Taylor's hand, but in sharp contrast to the front page, the writing was cramped and hardly legible.

_It was always a concept that I had problems with. How could something become more and more chaotic? I didn't think that the world worked that way, with so many loose ends and uncertain conclusions. But now I understand perfectly. Now I can see that the world is nothing but these loose ends, and that nothing really concludes at all. It just keeps going, becoming more and __more chaotic until it's an unrecognizable mess. At least that's what my world has become, and this is a chaos that has no end. It simply increases, until everything falls apart. I guess this is what you get when that happens. I don't even know how it got like this. It wasn't always, was it? No, I can remember happiness, and I can remember order. Even through the tangled mess that was the end, I can see those times of clarity and peace. Before everything changed for the worse. It wasn't even a single instance. I can handle one problem. I can even handle many, as long as my life retains organization and balance. But those words became lost to me back in another lifetime. What was it that first started this unraveling? Everything. My entire life became lost to chaos. But I guess it was thoughts of the future that truly started it. Here, I knew my place. I knew who I was and so did everyone else. But what about next year, when my identity would be lost in a school where no one even knew my name, much less anything about me. And what about even further? Now, my life takes one path, and it stays steadily on it. But soon, life would throw endless forks in that road, and conveniently forget the roadmap. The chaos in the future soon thrust itself into the present, and I found myself lost already. I no longer know where I am. The furiously swirling matter that is my life can no longer be controlled. I can't straighten it out, I can't escape it. I wish I knew how the world could stand under so much disorder, so much disarray. I wish I was strong enough to be a part of that bedlam. But now everyone will know that I am not. I am Taylor McKessie, an organized soul fighting against the terror of confusion, and now the battle is over. _

**Let me know what you thought of this chapter. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet, so I'd greatly appreciate any thoughts suggestions and criticisms. Also, I should say, I'm not sure how many more chapters I'll end up doing. I'd like to do a chapter for everyone, but I can't make any guarantees just because of my schedule and motivation. Feel free to make requests in reviews or PMs, but I generally start with an idea and fit that with a character, so its difficult to write for specific characters. Finally, I don't want to sound like I'm putting the next chapter "on ransom" or anything like that but I generally am more motivated and inspired if I know that people care enough to leave a review of some sort. Thanks again for reading!**


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